


Your Boyfriend’s A Doll

by tumble4rpdr



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-07
Updated: 2020-06-07
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:41:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24593959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tumble4rpdr/pseuds/tumble4rpdr
Summary: “Things will get better mijo, you’ll see,” Annabel reassured as she pulled away from their hug to look Jose in the eyes. “This isn’t the end of your story. You’re so young baby, and you have so much life ahead of you and so much love to give. You’ll find your person when you least expect it, I can feel it. You’re too wonderful not to,” she said as she squeezed his hand one more time and stood up from the bed. “And it’d be a crime to let someone miss out on getting to be with someone like you,” Annabel finished as she booped his nose like she did when he was young, as Jose’s lips curled up into a reluctant grin. “You just have to have a little faith and hold on for a little while longer. The universe knows what it’s doing and I know it has some magic in store just for you.”
Relationships: Brooke Lynn Hytes/Vanessa Vanjie Mateo
Comments: 6
Kudos: 30





	Your Boyfriend’s A Doll

**Author's Note:**

> For whatever reason this turned into my longest one-shot and once again involves V and a doll🙈For a little background, this fic is loosely based on the movie Life-Size and in this universe there are Brooke and Brock dolls instead of Barbie and Ken. I also wanted to thank everyone who reads and comments and enjoys this fic. I know that there are other more important, more topical issues that you could and should be interested in and reading about but I hope that this fluff can make at least one person smile💜

Jose laid in bed staring up at the ceiling, his phone continuing to buzz like a swarm of bees circling their hive. His tears became too heavy for his eyes to hold and streams began pouring down his cheeks like water from an overflowing glass. He finally picked up his phone to see all the calls and texts he had been trying to avoid. 

He looked at the new texts from his friends, asking what happened and if he was alright. He scrolled back through the messages from the previous night, the reminders that all of this was real, though the pain he was feeling too sharp to make him forget, the shards of his shattered heart still sitting in his chest. Jose saw the pictures his friends had sent him, of his boyfriend with another man; embracing him, kissing him, loving him. He then looked at his texts to Alex, sent with fire in his veins that seared his heart and clouded his mind with dark, toxic smoke. Jose had messaged him the pictures and waited for a response, the reply coming quicker than he expected. 

Alex and the man had a history, a past that constantly seemed to make its way to the present. Alex apologized not for going out with someone else, but for being with Jose from the start. He told Jose that he was too intense, that he’d never feel for Jose what Jose felt for him, and that he only wished he realized it sooner. 

Jose wanted to yell at him, wanted to call him up and give him a piece of his mind. Wanted to demand something, anything, that could justify how this could keep happening, how like dried leaves on a forest floor, his fragile dreams of commitment and love continued to get crushed. But one more look at the heartless text and all the fight in Jose just turned to sadness. He had sent back a simple ok and numbly set his phone aside, laying awake in the darkness until morning.

Though sunlight was now filling the room it did nothing to illuminate his mood. Jose replied to his friends, letting them know he would talk to them later and that he was fine, when he was really feeling anything but. He took a deep breath and sent out a text to his mom explaining what happened, hoping her sweetness and sympathy would help the clouds part. Immediately she told him she was coming over, bringing food and a box of some of his old things that she thought would cheer him up.

Jose propped one of his pillows up against his headboard and waited for his mom to arrive. As he sat there, unavoidable thoughts began to suddenly crowd his mind, filling it to the brim like an overpacked suitcase. Jose reflected on his favorite romance movies and how the heroine just stumbled upon their true love. While there was drama and angst, things were always made right and the couple always got a happy ending.

Jose sighed as he pressed his palms to his eyes. He thought about all the men he had tried with and how difficult and painful and pointless it had all been, like climbing up a mountain only to fall off of it. He remembered being a kid, with a heart full of sunflowers always in bloom and head full of bluebirds that constantly sang the most beautiful songs and could fly as high as Jose could dream. It was then when his mom started teaching him that everyone deserved love, especially a good boy like him she would say as she booped him on the nose and a smile took over his face. Now though, he wasn’t so sure and he longed to go back to a time when his hope was as shiny and strong as steel.

————

  
It’s late afternoon when his mom arrived, letting herself in as Jose still hadn’t gotten out of bed except to feed his cat. Annabel entered his room, a medium sized box under one arm and a oversized tote bag slung over the other. She dropped the box at the edge of the bed and emptied her bag, taking out a large thermos that Jose knew was full of Chamomile tea and a Tupperware container packed with his mom’s special mantecaditos cookies.

Jose sipped his tea as him and his mom talked, her hand covering his as he achingly recounted exactly what happened and hesitantly revealed just how much he was hurt by it. Annabel nodded as she listened to her son, watching as his eyes pooled with unshed tears that neither of them had the heart to mention. When Jose was done speaking his mom took him in her arms, her embrace enveloping him in comfort and warmth like a blanket freshly out of the dryer.

“Things will get better mijo, you’ll see,” Annabel reassured as she pulled away from their hug to look Jose in the eyes. “This isn’t the end of your story. You’re so young baby, and you have so much life ahead of you and so much love to give. You’ll find your person when you least expect it, I can feel it. You’re too wonderful not to,” she said as she squeezed his hand one more time and stood up from the bed. “And it’d be a crime to let someone miss out on getting to be with someone like you,” Annabel finished as she booped his nose like she did when he was young, as Jose’s lips curled up into a reluctant grin. “You just have to have a little faith and hold on for a little while longer. The universe knows what it’s doing and I know it has some magic in store just for you.”

Jose and his mom then said their goodbyes and Jose could almost feel the flowers in his chest begin to bloom again. He grabbed a cookie out of the container and took a bite as he went to open the box. Inside he found some childhood relics that he hadn’t seen in years but, like an old friend, had never truly forgotten about.

He picked up his neon green GameBoy Color with the Pokémon Silver cartridge still in place. Jose remembered being a kid and identifying with Pikachu, as something small, powerful, and lovable was everything young Jose had wanted to be. He then took Roary, his lion Beanie Baby, out of the box. The feel of its slightly matted though still velvety soft fur in his hand made him recall tightly clutching the stuffed animal on his first day of middle school, his mom buying it for him as a reminder to be brave. He found his limited edition red iPod nano and chuckled to himself. He knew if it was charged and could be turned on it would be playing his favorite teenage songs like Kelis’ Milkshake or anything by Justin Timberlake, since Jose always had a thing for white boys with blonde hair.

Jose’s hand skimmed over a packet of unopened wishing dust and grabbed his diary, the composition notebook his paperback vault for all the secrets his lips wouldn’t let him utter and all the wishes he wanted to capture but were too precious to share. Jose took the book out, about to read through it, when he spotted his favorite toy laying face down in the box. He dropped the notebook to the side and immediately picked up the toy, his one and only doll, Ballet Brock. His thumb ran over the still sparkly teal see-through shirt with a silver vest on top of it decorated with hearts and stars and a shimmering periwinkle dance belt. Brock’s legs were covered by shimmering grey tights and white ballet shoes. His eyes were a light blue and surrounded by delicately painted lashes and his hair was a dirty blonde plastic that Jose always wished he could actually run his fingers through.

Jose remembered being instantly drawn to the doll, amazed at the realization that boys could dance too and be just as bright and glittery as girls. He thought about all the nights he slept with Brock cuddled next to him on his pillow, his tiny plastic form always pressed against his cheek when he awoke. He flushed as he recalled when he started to realize what he was, when he kissed Brock’s small molded lips as tenderly as a teenage boy could.

He held Brock close to him again as he tugged the blanket around them and opened up his diary. The scribbles were like his own time machine, each turn of a page like a snapshot of his youth, the nostalgia warming his heart like a jacket on a winter day. He read how happy little Jose was to be himself, how even though he was different that’s what made him special, or at least that’s what his mom had assured him. Jose tearfully smiled at his younger self, so innocent and open and trusting. The world to little Jose was a wide open field of fresh air and sunshine without a rain cloud in sight. He longed to return to that time before the clouds, before the storm of realizing exactly why he was so different, and learning that not everyone thought he was as special as he believed.

Though that part of his adolescence was never written down, it was imprinted on Jose’s mind in the most permanent of ink, unable to be forgotten no matter how hard he tried. He might have made it, finding his tribe with people he loved and who loved him, getting to dance for a living and use his artistry to allow others to be creative and free themselves. But it was times like these, when Jose’s devotion and commitment were taken for granted, when all his love and affection was overlooked that seemed to take it all away, depression and doubt choking his mind, suffocating the beauty and triumphs he had worked so hard for. 

It made him feel weak, like he was back in school getting bullied again and unable to conceal his tears. Like he was a grain of cement in a sidewalk, so small it went unnoticed but continued to get stepped on. Jose placed Brock next to him and reached for another cookie, attempting to preserve his mom’s encouraging spirit and stop himself from traveling back to the worst parts of his youth just because of a boy. As he chewed, he took the wishing dust out of the box and tore open the envelope. The coarse glitter mixed with the shortbread crumbs on Jose’s fingers as he closed his eyes.

“I wish for a love story full of everything I used to be,” Jose quietly uttered. “For someone I can open up to and be silly with and, and who can bring back the sun,” Jose sighed. “ Cause I sure as hell don’t need no darkness no more.” 

Jose blew the sparkles off his finger tips before turning off the light and pulling his quilt over his head, letting the darkness wash over him like a tipped over ink bottle. As Jose turned his body further into his pillow, the open packet of wishing dust shifted with him, though the movement went unnoticed. Another move and the packet went tumbling, spilling sparkles and promises all over Ballet Brock as he laid on the bed beside a now sleeping Jose.

————

The next morning Jose woke up to the feeling of arms like vines wound tightly around him and a warm breath tickling his ear like a delicate summer breeze. Jose rolled over and nestled further into the comfort, his eyes remaining closed as if trying to trap this pleasure and dreaminess inside his mind for eternity. He smelled vanilla and plastic as he nuzzled closer to the source of the snuggle, gasping when the man’s giggles made his chest vibrate.

Jose’s eyes shot open and he instantly sat up, suddenly noticing the large, attractive man laying next to him, looking at him with bright but worried blue eyes and specks of glitter littering his face.

“What’s wrong?” the man questioned, his voice filled with concern as he sat up as well. “It was so nice getting to cuddle with you again.”

“What you mean again?” Jose challenged as he jumped out of bed, eying the stranger suspiciously as the man continued to gaze questioningly at him.

Jose then took in the stranger’s outfit. Shiny teal fabric stretched over the man’s broad shoulders and strong arms, the thin material nearly see through as Jose noticed the faint outline of enticing abs on display underneath a now ludicrous looking silver satin vest. The man’s muscular thighs were encased in snug grey tights and flimsy white ballet slippers covered his feet.

“Shit, no. No, it can’t be,” Jose said aloud as his hand covered his eyes and he shook his head in disbelief. “I must be dreaming. I have to be,” he reasoned.

“I sure hope this isn’t a dream,” Brock replied earnestly. “I like this body. Look how much more it can move,” he smiled as he slowly curved his arms up over his head and thrust his hips, almost belly dancing despite the fact that he was still sitting in bed. “Think how much better I can dance,” Brock exclaimed delightedly as he threw the blankets off and leapt out of bed and began to pirouette. “I can’t wait.”

“Slow your roll twinkle toes,” Jose replied as he tried to keep the inescapable grin off his face, but Brock’s genuine enthusiasm was too charming and felt like a cool bath in the middle of a drought. “Wait, that’s it,” Jose realized as he dropped to the floor and began taking off Brock’s shoe, forcing him to the bed to keep his balance. “Bitch, lemme see your foot.”

“But why,” Brock started to giggle before he could finish his question, his legs flailing as Jose grabbed his right ankle trying to hold him still. “I’m ticklish,” Brock managed to get out as Jose rolled up the leg of his tights and took off his shoe, struggling to ignore the new pink of his cheeks and how his stomach had become full of swelling ocean waves at the sound of Brock’s laugh.

Jose lifted up his foot as Brock started to catch his breath and found what he was looking for. The serial number B31086 stamped on the sole of Brock’s foot the indisputable proof that this was actually happening, that his childhood doll had come to life. He felt frozen to the spot by the impossibility of it all before being snapped out of his state of shock by a sudden playful but forceful pinch to his arm.

“What was that for?” Jose asked, annoyed until he noticed Brock’s beaming face and lithe body so close to his, now cautiously pulling his hand away from Jose’s arm.

“Payback for tickling me,” Brock answered weakly almost questioningly, as if he was worried that his mischief actually upset Jose. “And you were wondering if you were dreaming, and now you know you’re not,” he finished, apparently proud of this reasoning that Jose knew he thought of on the fly.

Jose shook his head and stood up, a smirk once again decorating his face as he huffed out a breath in disbelief. If he hadn’t been so enthralled by Brock, like a magnet pulled in every time he smiled or reacted or teased, Jose would’ve realized that he hadn’t smiled this much in days, if ever in his adult life, and how much his heart missed this joy, like the sky misses the sun.

“How the hell did this even happen? And what the fuck am I supposed to do with you now?” Jose questioned aloud as he joined Brock on the edge of the bed.

“We could have pancakes?” Brock suggested softly but sincerely as he turned toward Jose and cocked his head.

“How is that going to help?” Jose asked with a laugh as he looked back at Brock.

“Well, I know your mom always said that it wasn’t a good idea making decisions on an empty stomach,” Brock recited, Jose wondering how he remembered much less heard one of his mom’s sayings from all those years ago. “And, I’ve never had them before and I’ve always wanted to. They used to smell so good when you’d bring me down for Sunday breakfast.”

Jose was reminded of when he was still living at home, how no matter what was going on in their lives it was mandatory for Jose and his brothers to join his mother and their abuela for Sunday morning pancakes, a tradition Jose now wished they hadn’t let slip away.

“Fine, we’ll get breakfast but we gotta go out. I ain’t got nothing for pancakes here,” Jose replied, hoping to shake the sudden mournfulness from his mind and maybe have some fun getting distracted by Brock.

“Really?” Brock questioned eagerly, his eyes shining as Jose nodded agreeably, once again caught up in Brock’s spirit. “What are we waiting for then, let’s go,” he said as he stood up and tugged Jose up with him.

“Hold up Mary,” Jose playfully admonished as Brock looked at him pleadingly. “We gotta get ourselves cleaned up. I gotta get myself looking right and tight and there sure as Hell ain’t no way I’m letting you go out in that.”

Jose saw Brock look down at his clothes and blush, his cheeks as pink as cotton candy as he crossed his arms over his chest as if to conceal the offending garment. 

“Look, just stay here alright,” Jose warned as if he was telling Thackery not to do something. He trusted Brock’s intentions but he also knew how curiosity could get the best of someone. “I’m gonna take a shower and I’ll leave the water running hot so you can jump in after,” Jose explained. “Then we’ll find you something to wear that ain’t so Swan Lake at a gay disco,” he finished, watching as Brock nodded and listened to him intently, despite likely not having a clue what Jose was describing.

Jose placed two towels on the rack and got in the shower while Brock hopefully still laid on the bed in his room. As the warm water ran over his hair and down his body, Jose closed his eyes and tried to unwind, knowing his mind would soon became like a marathon, thoughts quickly running passed each other, as he eventually had to figure out what to do about Brock.

It was then when Jose heard the glass shower door slide open and Brock step inside behind him. Jose whipped around to find Brock completely naked, obliviously grinning at him as he teasingly nudged him over so that the water can wet his curls. Jose watched mouth agape as Brock started slowly running his hands over his body under the stream, giving a look of surprised wonder at every part. 

Jose could feel his cheeks heat up even hotter than the water as he gulped and did everything he could to stare at Brock’s face and nothing else below.

“I thought I told you to stay,” Jose scolded with little power behind it, too busy trying to keep his cool.  
  
“But my stomach’s growling,” Brock replied innocently. “It’s like there’s an earthquake in there, feel.”  
Brock took Jose’s hand and put it on his now wet abs as Jose had to remember how to breathe. “And the sooner we get ready the sooner we can go so why can’t we share?”

“Don’t you think it’s a little too up close and personal?” Jose hissed, attempting to conceal his frustration and arousal.

“I don’t understand.” Brock answered. “I like spending time with you and it’s quicker this way.”

“Except we’re both fucking naked,” Jose replied in exasperation and embarrassment.

“But you’ve already seen me naked,” Brock answered plainly completely unfazed as Jose thought back to the times when he took off Ballet Brock’s clothes to dress him up in new outfits.

“Yeah but this is different,” Jose reasoned as he looked away from Brock’s piercing gaze.

“Why?” Brock wondered as his long arm reached around Jose to pump shampoo onto his palms.

“Because, because…”

While Jose still struggled to explain himself, Brock moved his hands and started to massage the shampoo into Jose’s scalp. Jose melted beneath Brock’s strong arms and let out an involuntary moan as his eyes slipped closed.

“I knew I could get you to relax,” Brock spoke into Jose’s ear with a smirk. Jose could feel electricity course through his veins at Brock’s closeness, though Brock merely chuckled as he shoved Jose back under the spray to rinse his hair before washing his own. 

Jose marveled at Brock’s lack of awareness as Brock finished washing the shampoo out of his curls before taking the conditioner and repeating his actions. Jose found the entire thing extremely calming and unintentionally sexy while Brock stood behind him, simply happy to be able to put him at ease and not realizing how flirtatious he was acting.

Jose snatched the body wash before Brock could get to it, afraid of what might happen if Brock began to rub his big hands over his body. Jose saw a look of disappointment flash across Brock’s face as he squeezed the soap into his hands and started to spread it around his chest.

“I’ve never done any of this before,” Brock faintly told Jose as he continued to move the suds across other parts of his body.

“You doing fine,” Jose reassured, suddenly feeling ashamed that he forgot how new everything is for him. “Ain’t no wrong way to get clean.”

“What do I do with this?” Brock asked as Jose looked to see Brock holding out his now more than proportionately sized dick.

Jose was speechless as his breath caught in his throat. He wondered if he was blushing since his blood seemed to instantly flow to a place lower on his body. 

“What you mean?” Jose snapped back harsher than he intended, internally berating himself for his body’s reaction. 

“Toys don’t usually have these, at least I didn’t,” Brock replied meekly. “So I don’t know what they do.”

“Bitch I ain’t giving the the damn birds and bees talk right now,” Jose replied as he saw Brock’s face fall as he cast his eyes to the tiled floor. Jose let out a sigh. 

“Alright, fine,” he relented, his lips quirking upward as Brock glanced at him, a look of hope and relief in his eyes. “Finish up your scrubbing and then we’ll have us a real adult chat,” Jose told him as Brock instantly brightened and pulled Jose into his arms, as if they weren’t both naked and wet.

————

After getting out of the shower, Jose gave Brock a pair of underwear which he stared at with a puzzled expression before Jose told him what they were for. Once Brock was at least somewhat covered up, Jose sat down with him and attempted to explain the functions of his new appendage, feeling like they were back in seventh grade health class. Brock listened in awe as Jose taught him, holding in his questions until Jose was done.

“So that’s why I was always paired with Brooke,” Brock said with realization as Jose finished telling him about the different ways to have sex.

“Yeah, she was supposed to be your girl,” Jose scoffed. “Though I don’t think you two were supposed to be fucking. It ain’t very kid friendly.”

“That’s good,” Brock replied with relief. “I don’t think I’d want us to be either.”

“Why? She ain’t what you looking for?” Jose asked amused, though part of him yearned to learn if Brock had a type.  
  
“No,” Brock answered with certainty. “I don’t think I could really love her, toy self or not. And I couldn’t be with someone I didn’t love.”

Jose gaped at Brock, observing him with a new softness coupled with a newfound curiosity. As much as he was flesh and blood and muscles now, Brock had spent practically all of his life as an inanimate object, yet he seemed to have more of understanding of affection and commitment than most of Jose’s exes. Jose was just about to question him, to figure out just what Brock knew about love and how he could say something so simple yet so moving when a faint meow was heard below them.

Together they glanced down to see Thackery pressing his wet, velvety nose against Brock’s shins, whining as he peered up at them with big, pleading eyes. Before Jose could react, Brock instantly scooped up the tiny ball of fluff, his fur the color of dusty cotton, and nestled him to his bare chest like a mother cradles a newborn.

“You have a kitty?” Brock asked in disbelief, his voice so full of childlike joy, as if the kitten was a magical creature and its mere presence was the best gift Brock could hope to receive.

“Yeah, that’s Thackery,” Jose began. “You know like from-”

“Hocus Pocus,” they both answered in unison, Brock smirking as Jose looked at him in surprise. Jose was about to ask Brock how he knew the name’s origin, before remembering the countless Halloweens he spent on the couch after a night of trick-or-treating, a bucket of candy in his lap and Ballet Brock by his side as he hollered at Max not to light the Black Flame Candle. Jose felt his chest begin to prickle, his hardened heart punctured by feelings of bashfulness, sentimentality, and something else that he couldn’t quite name but that penetrated deeper and radiated farther and left his entire body buzzing.

“He’s probably just hungry,” Jose said, trying to refocus himself and hopefully yank his head out of the clouds.

“Can he come to breakfast with us?” Brock wondered, his face open and bright like a door to another world.

In that moment Jose felt as though he was looking in a mirror, remembering how his younger self had constantly begged to bring their jittery but affectionate dog Riley with him to school to ensure he’d have a friend to play with at recess. Jose quickly closed his eyes and took a breath, wanting to shake the nostalgia and childlike silliness from his mind. He shook his head lightly as to gently refuse Brock’s request, finding that the sight of him disappointed felt as though someone was tightly gripping his heart and refusing to let go.

“I don’t think my little man here is ready for an adventure like that,” Jose carefully stated, hoping to soften the blow. “Lemme go feed him and make sure he’s all ready and set before we go,” he continued as he watched Brock’s face. “I’m gonna leave you to go through my closet and see if you can find anything in there you wanna put on.”

“You’re going to let me dress myself?” Brock asked with surprised delight as he seemed to hold Thackery even tighter.

“Sure, you got this,” Jose encouraged as he kindly nudged Brock with his shoulder before lifting a resistant Thackery out of his arms and heading to the kitchen.

As he silently watched Thackery eat knowing Brock was busy in the other room, Jose finally let the unusual situation seep into his thoughts, making his head feel like a balloon filled with too much air. Part of him still couldn’t believe this was real despite the now very human blonde Jose left to rummage through his closet. He wondered how all of this happened and if he could undo it and, more importantly if he wanted to. Little Jose had loved Ballet Brock from the moment he saw him, been pulled to his box on the shelf as if under a spell. For all of Jose’s childhood joys and successes, as well as the sadness and angst, just the presence of Ballet Brock seemed to make it all better, lighting a candle in his chest and making his heart glow. It was only once the bullying started to get worse, once Jose got older and realized his softness could be used to hurt him, that Ballet Brock was put away along with his comfort and innocence and the once burning candle was blown out. 

Jose grabbed Thackery and headed back to his room, swearing to himself that he wouldn’t abandon Brock again, that he would be there for him the way Brock was all those years ago. Brock deserved the chance to be alive, whatever the reason, and Jose vowed to help him as much as he could.

As he made his way into his room, the intensity of his mind eased and some of the overfilled balloon started to deflate. He couldn’t help but chuckle as he saw Brock bracing himself against his bed attempting to squeeze into a pair of tiny gold booty shorts, ones Jose had worn for a background dancer gig and were too small even for him. When Jose’s laugh got louder Brock looked up at him in the doorway, his face instantly lighting up.

“You’re smaller than I expected,” Brock stated matter-of-factly with a grin, making any anger Jose would’ve felt at the comment vanish.

“That’s cause those things are tight as hell on me,” Jose replied as he helped pull Brock up from the bed. “Of course you would be drawn to the smallest, sluttiest piece of clothing I got,” Jose grinned, despite seeing how Brock didn’t completely understand.

“But they’re shiny,” Brock reasoned as if that explained it all.

“That don’t mean nothing if you can’t even get a thigh up in ‘em,” Jose responded as he handed Thackery over to Brock and started digging through his wardrobe. “I’ll find you something so that we can finally get our asses outta here. And I’ll let you wear one of my chains since you be craving so hard for some sparkle.”

Jose finally settled on the biggest pair of sweatpants he owned, though they were still short and a little too snug on Brock, not that he noticed. The oversized Rihanna shirt was almost a crop top on Brock’s long, lean frame but Jose reasoned that he had the abs to pull it off. The look was finished with one of Jose’s most glittery gold chains which Brock put on the minute Jose handed it to him.

“Bye Thackery, we’ll be back soon,” Brock called out as they eventually made their way to the front door. Jose just grinned for what felt like the millionth time that day as he finally led him and Brock out of the apartment.

————

Jose sat across from Brock in the booth watching as he devoured his second stack of pancakes like a shark attacking its prey. He had cautioned him that they might not be as good as his mom’s but Brock was undeterred, practically hugging their waitress when she brought over their orders and treating his first bite as if it was a religious experience. 

“You look like you enjoying yourself,” Jose teased after taking a sip of his coffee.

“I am,” Brock replied, his mouth still full. “I can’t thank you enough for doing this for me,” he said earnestly after swallowing.

“Ain’t no big thing,” Jose replied with a blush. “And I was thinking since you gon’ be sticking around we might as well get you some new clothes since mama, this look ain’t the one,” he said as he eyed Brock up and down. “But first we gotta head down to the studio. Just ‘cause classes are over don’t mean school ain’t in session.”

“What studio?” Brock asked curiously.

“It’s my baby,” Jose replied, knowing that he didn’t really answer Brock’s question. “After scraping and struggling and pinching every penny til I damn near broke ‘em in half, I saved up enough to get me my own dance studio,” he stated proudly. “And while I love running the show, it do take a toll on a bitch. I’ve even had to start doing some teaching on the side since one of our instructors done up and left.”

“Jose, this is perfect,” Brock exclaimed as he reached across the table to intwine his syrupy fingers with his. “I’m a dancer, I can help you.”

“Now wait a minute Toes,” Jose started, trying to see past Brock’s enthusiasm and kindness. “I needa see what kind of dancing you do first before I’m gon’ have you sign on the dotted line.”  
  
“I am a trained ballet dancer,” Brock reminded him with more certainty than Jose had ever heard from him.

“Just ‘cause you was given a pair of tights don’t mean you got the moves Miss Thing,” Jose sassed, forgetting that Brock wasn’t one of his usual friends who knew how to throw and take shade. “You still gotta audition just like everybody else,” he said, hoping Brock hadn’t taken his attitude to heart as he glanced at their still linked hands.

“Fine,” Brock agreed with an intense expression. “Just don’t be surprised by how good I am,” he finished straight-faced before breaking out into giggles, letting Jose know that Brock could take a joke and that he wasn’t as fragile as he seemed.

————

After arriving at the studio, Jose handed Brock some proper fitting dance attire which he gladly accepted, putting it on while Jose turned on the lights and got the stereo ready in one of the rooms.

“Would you have pointe shoes?” Brock questioned as he entered the space with his feet bare.

“You sure?” Jose checked, knowing how hard dancing on pointe could be and not wanting Brock to get hurt. “You ain’t gotta prove nothing to me you know.”

“Don’t worry,” Brock reassured. “I know what I’m doing. Just wait.”

With Brock’s confirmation Jose went and got the largest pair of pointe shoes the studio had which luckily seemed to work for Brock as he sat against the wall to wall mirror to tie them.

“Are you ready?” Brock asked with a smile, the conviction emanating from his stance to tone of voice as Jose simply nodded in return. “What do you need to see? We can start with standard first position before going into a plié,” Brock began explaining as he completed the moves flawlessly. “Or we can go into fourth position and make it a little more dramatic,” he continued while he crossed his legs as one arm curved out in front of him, the other over his head with a flourish, his posture straight and precise making the position that much more emotive. “Or how about this?” Brock smirked as he went into an arabesque on pointe.

“That’s enough you damn show off,” Jose joked though he was having trouble keeping his jaw off the floor. He never expected Ballet Brock to actually live up to his name, the only dancing he had done before this was being held in young Jose’s arms as he practiced for his dance team auditions. 

“Now that I know you got that tight technique lets see if you can get down,” Jose challenged, knowing Brock would more than likely rise to the occasion. “You giving me all that precise precision but we do got a recital to put together in the Spring. And that shit’s a lot less Nut Cracker and a lot more Save the Last Dance.”

Jose chuckled at Brock’s misunderstanding as he made his way to the stereo.

“It’s a movie, and a damn good one at that,” Jose exclaimed with a grin as Brock looked at him with confusion and interest. “We’ll have us a movie night when we get back to the house but for now just work your Julia Stiles ass and show me what you got.”

At that, Brock made his way to the center of the room as Jose pressed play.

Though Brock was only one man, his movements took up the whole room, like the brightness of a shooting star illuminating the entire night sky. He was as graceful as a flower petal floating in the breeze and just as natural, like he was doing exactly what was destined for him. Brock wrote poetry with his body, verses that saturated Jose’s senses so that every smell, every taste, every touch was Brock and his captivating aura and his all encompassing presence. All of Jose’s worries faded away and all that was left in his mind were visions of Brock.

The song ended and Brock froze, the sounds of his heavy breathing and Jose’s pounding heart all that could be heard in the room as Brock awaited Jose’s approval.

“You’ll start next week,” Jose softly conceded, clearly still beguiled.

“You mean it?” Brock asked, almost in disbelief though he undoubtedly knew how talented he was. Jose was brought back to his early auditions, when acceptance and acknowledgement left him with undying gratitude and grateful tears, despite the confidence that ran through his veins and powered his movements.

“Bitch I ain’t playing with you, not after all of that,” Jose confirmed as Brock instantly hurried over to him and took him up in a tight embrace, nearly lifting him off the ground.

“Thank you, thank you,” Brock cried as he pressed their cheeks together. “I’m so glad I get to dance and that I get to help you,” he said as he released Jose from his hold and they began to leave the studio.

Jose was about to praise Brock, for his dancing and for his heart, for coming into his life by some magical force of the universe and becoming his umbrella against the dark storm clouds that frequently hung over him. He was about to start before Brock cut him off.

“I told you I could do it,” Brock smugly reminded Jose with an almost bratty smirk on his face.

Jose rolled his eyes and returned the smirk before Brock quickly and teasingly patted his ass and rushed away with a cackle, now overwhelming Jose’s senses for an entirely different reason.

————

Brock came home from the studio to the apartment he still shared with Jose, three months after that fateful day. His afternoon ballet class had let out a while ago but the kids never wanted to leave, always wanting to twirl with Brock or have him lift them up so they could almost touch the ceiling.

Hearing the key rattle in the lock, Jose immediately started a shower, hanging up two towels and getting in. Brock stepped in with him a few minutes later, the sight of him naked now not as awkward for Jose though it was still just as electrifying. Brock immediately began massaging the shampoo into Jose’s hair, the firm touch and tender care something Jose hated to admit he craved as he relaxed under the warm spray and Brock’s hands like he did every time. They finished washing their own bodies and shut the water off, the suds draining as they made their way to the bedroom and their still shared bed.

“Where’d you hide that silly ass leash?” Jose asked as he searched their room for the cat leash that Brock had found for Thackery so that he could join them on their now routine Sunday pancake breakfasts.

“It’s not silly, it’s necessary,” Brock argued as he finished putting on his pajama bottoms. “Don’t you think Thackery deserves to have some fun?”

“I don’t know if this is Thacks’ idea of a good time,” Jose answered grinning as dug around under the bed.

It was then when Jose found the open packet of wishing dust from months ago and everything started to fall into place. He remembered what he wished for the night before finding Brock in his bed and how his already shining face was sprinkled with bits of glitter.

As he stood up, he saw Brock carefully watching him from across the room with an expression on his face he had never seen before. Jose glanced at the envelope in his hand before looking back at Brock, only to realize that he was worried, Jose practically holding his origin and fate in his hands. 

Jose tightly yet cautiously rolled up the package to ensure no more dust could escape before placing it on his night stand.

“I don’t need no more wishing,” Jose clarified as he slowly walked over toward Brock. “I can’t have you turning back and I, I couldn’t live with myself if something stupid made me lose you.”

Before he knew what was happening Brock stood in front of him, so close that Jose could feel the heat from Brock’s bare skin on his own naked chest and his breath hitting his face and resuscitating his nerve and desire. Jose’s hands traced down Brock’s back like drops of rain running down a window before settling securely on his hips. Brock shyly but determinedly followed as his fingers softly curled in the nape of Jose’s neck before skating down the hills of his shoulders and stopping as his arms grasped Jose’s waist. 

Jose looked up at Brock and Brock down at him and like magnets their lips were brought together. The kiss was hesitant at first, like gradually dipping a toe in the water, but soon their want and passion took over, the both of them jumping head first into the ocean to drown in the feeling of the other. Their chests were filled with sunlight and fire, the friction between their bodies only making the rays brighter and the flames hotter, as if they could engulf the room.

They resistantly pulled away to see a small blaze atop the nightstand, the packet of wishing dust sparking and crackling before it and the remaining dust inside disintegrated.

“Looks like you my magic now,” Jose said with a satisfied and dreamy grin as the smoke cleared and they tightened their holds around each other.

“And you’re mine,” Brock replied, his smile bright and more human that Jose had ever seen as they both came together for another kiss.


End file.
